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They Threw Away The Mold

Remembering Lucille Smead ('28)

By Cappy Hall Rearick

Lucille Smead with Bill and Cappy Rearick

Lucille Smead with Bill and Cappy Rearick

"I might not come back"

Seven years ago, I drove Lucille Smead to St. Vincent's hospital in Jacksonville, Fla., where she was scheduled for heart surgery the following day. She insisted that I drive her down in her big white Lincoln, so I reluctantly agreed. Lucille was anxious about the surgery, and who could blame her? That said, normally Lucille wasn't scared of the devil himself.

I maneuvered the white boxcar around corners while she gazed out the passenger window. "I might not come back," she said softly, almost whispering.

I almost ran the boxcar up a light pole. "Lucille, don't think that. You'll be back here before you know it, bossy as ever."

She cut her eyes over at me. "Well, in case I'm not, I left instructions." I was not a bit surprised that this 90-year-old take-charge woman would take charge of her own funeral.

Arriving at the hospital, she waited in the lobby while I went back to the boxcar for her heavy Samsonite suitcase, circa 1950. I lugged it into the lobby, then looked all around for a wheelchair for Lucille. There were none.

"Let's go," she said. "I might be old, but I can still walk."

Struggling with the antique Samsonite, I followed behind her. Halfway to the elevator, I was all out of breath, panting like a dog. "Lucille, what in the world did you pack in this suitcase?"

She didn't miss a beat. "My negligees."

Why was I not surprised?

A chance meeting

We made it to the elevator, and as I was about to push the button, someone shouted, "Hold it!"

A tall, good-looking man, wearing a tailored suit and an understated striped silk tie, got on.

"Thanks for waiting," he said, then looked down and took in the Samsonite. How could he not? "Which one of you is the patient," he asked.

Lucille declared that she was to have a heart valve replacement the next day. Then that 90-year-old woman began to flirt with him ... and he with her!

"Tell me all about yourself," he said.

She smiled as if she'd been hoping he would ask that very question.

A Personality of the South

"I am Lucille Jones Smead. I love music, martinis and minding everybody else's business."

The captivated stranger laughed out loud.

"I was voted Who's Who in the World of Women, and also named a Personality of the South. I've never been sure what that meant, but all my life I've been somewhat of a personality."

The good-looking man said, "I'll just bet you have. You're a remarkable woman."

"I am Lucille Jones Smead. I love music, martinis and minding everybody else's business."

Lucille beamed. Once again, the man's response had been exactly what she wanted to hear.

He asked about her profession and she smiled as though anticipating his question.

"I'm a James Madison University and U.Va. graduate," she said proudly. "I was the first Virginia State Supervisor of Speech Pathology, a position I personally created." She lifted her chin. "I'm also a FELLOW in the American Speech and Hearing Association." Proudly, she added, "I was good at my job."

Abruptly, she stopped ticking off the finer points of her life to say, "I might not leave this hospital alive."

Before I could reassure her, the stranger planted a big smile on his face, and then leaned down to her level. He was very tall and Lucille was not. He looked into her eyes as though gazing at the woman of his dreams, the love of his life. "Oh, but you're wrong about that. You will leave St. Vincent's as good as new. Maybe even better," he told her.

The air was charged with energy in that small space. It crackled; it bounced off the walls. The hair on my arms stood up and said, Howdy!

Lucille grinned. "You seem mighty sure of yourself. You're not my surgeon, are you?"

Date with a stranger

His eyes locked onto hers and still smiling, he shrugged his well-defined shoulders. "No, nothing like that," he said. "I just know that you're going to be OK. In fact, I'm so sure of it that I'd like to make a date with you. How about meeting me a year from today? Right here on this elevator."

Well, Lucille Jones Smead's mama didn't raise a stupid daughter. She gazed up at him, batted her eyelashes a few times, then said, "Cocktails and dinner?"

"You bet!" He had a big grin.

St. Simons' resident Lucille Smead was an 'Island Icon.'

St. Simons' resident Lucille Smead was an 'Island Icon.'

On an elevator between the first and fifth floors, Lucille met a perfect stranger and told him the story of her life. Then while I watched, the two of them morphed into Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant in An Affair to Remember. Holy Cow!

Blushing as though she were a young girl again, 90-year-old Lucille Smead agreed to meet him on that elevator in exactly one year.

From that point on, she no longer wondered aloud whether or not she would go home again. In fact, she seemed to forget all about dying. She started right away making plans to host a big cocktail party to include many of the doctors who cared for her while she was at St. Vincent's.

Two years went by before I thought to recall the incident to her. "Lucille, how was your date with that handsome man you met on the elevator at St. Vincent's? You told him you'd meet him for cocktails and dinner, remember?"

She laughed and said, "My land! I forgot all about it!"

Up close with an angel

I can't explain what transpired between those two people that day, but whatever it was, served to restore Lucille's steadfast strength and sense of purpose. My guess is that Lucille got up close and personal with an angel, one sent to St. Vincent's just for her.

Her newly repaired heart never forgot her Virginia roots, nor did she ever lose her sense of humor. On Aug. 7, 2006, the St. Simons Presbyterian Church was filled with family, friends and admirers who had come to say goodbye to the 96-year-old St. Simons Island icon.

Six of her favorite men lifted Lucille up that day and lovingly carried her from the church to make her final journey home to Virginia. The recessional song she had requested in writing was not a traditional hymn. Oh no. It was, You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille.

Why was I not surprised?

About the author

Cappy Hall Rearick is a humor writer and columnist on St. Simons Island, Ga. Commenting about her friend, Lucille Smead, Rearick says, "Lucille was an Island Icon." Visit Rearick's Web site at http://www.simplysoutherncappy.com. Read more about Lucille Smead at